Burnt Like Barbecue
by frostygossamer
Summary: Post Season 3. AU. Sam DOES find a way to snatch Dean from Hell. Now they just have to nurse him back to health and sanity. Hurt!Dean Caring!SamBobby plus a little bit of angst, philosophizing and scatological humour. NOW COMPLETE
1. Gone

Summary: Post Season 3. AU. Sam DOES find a way to snatch Dean from Hell. Now they just have to nurse him back to health and sanity. Hurt!Dean Caring!SamBobby plus a little bit of angst, philosophizing and scatological humour.

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><p>AN: I've been having a tidy, and I found some story notes I made after the Season 3 finale. So I thought I'd write them up. Here goes...

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>GONE<p>

Sam's big brother Dean was dead.

Dean had been dragged down to Hell by a pack of slavering hellhounds, just as he and Sam had expected and feared for an entire year. Sam was inconsolable. His brother had died for him, to save his sorry-assed life, and now he was going to have to live with the guilt.

But he was damned if he was gonna leave it there. While he had breath in his body he would do what-the-hell-ever it took to get Dean back. Whatever it took.

One by one Sam tracked down each and every deal-authorized demon in the US. No one but no one was making deals that would get Dean free. Then he tried every goddamn way he could think of, every idea anyone could give him, to open any Hell's Gate, so he could march right in there himself and get him. No dice.

He was running out of ideas, and he was spending way too many nights staring at the bottom of an empty whiskey bottle.

Finally he tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, who it turned out had got shit, and he hit the low of all lows. Then, just as he was staring out his gun, and wondering if he should give the fast lane a try, Bobby rang and suggested one last name.

Sam didn't know it at the time, but the name good old Bobby had given him was just some old stoic guy, who Bobby thought would help him deal. It turned out way better than either would have expected. Eventually.

HOPE

Sam drove up north to see the guy, who went by the name of Guru Fenton. He was an impressively venerable-looking white-bearded old geezer. He talked a lot of eastern mystic-style new-agey stuff, deep with cod philosophy. Sam was a little dubious at first, but it turned out the guy had a sense of humour and a generous and understanding disposition that challenged his preconceptions a little.

Fenton listened to Sam's story. Sam wasn't hopeful, but after a lot of beard stroking and brow knitting, to Sam's surprise, the old Guru said there might just be a way. He gave Sam the names of two people that he thought could help. One was a shaman name of Ashman, and the other was an earth-walking imp who went by Bogart.

Sam was amazed that Fenton was advocating this one last attempt. He had actually expected the guy to try and talk him out of his hopeless quest. Fenton laughed and explained that, in his belief, life is a search for truth. Search until all possibilities are exhausted, all of them, then you can sit down and talk about what you have learned.

As he waved Sam goodbye, he told him he expected he would be seeing him again, when he was ready to sit down and talk.

PRICE

Sam first went to find Ashman. He found him in his little occult store in Montreal. Ashman's shingle claimed that he was a 'Professional Necromancer'.

"It's hereditary", he explained to Sam, over his desk in the back office. "And for me a calling. My papa, my granpapa, they were the same. I possess a great power over the dead. I can call them back to life, even from Hell, even against their will. Only thing is, I need someone to locate the soul of the loved one, down there in the pit. Then together we grab him up and, oop-la, pull him out. That is where my friend Bogart comes in. Bogart is a hell-spawn. He can sashay right on into Hell and find your brother for me, then voila!"

Sam wasn't entirely convinced but, at this stage, he was willing to try anything. Ashman wanted to be paid in dollars for his services, big bucks, but Bogart was an old style spirit and would, he said, have to be paid in hard gold. He had a few ideas where Sam could go look for Bogart. His usual hang-outs.

"The repossession of your brother's soul won't be easy", Ashman warned Sam. "It will be damn hard, and it will hurt everyone, not least the loved one. But it is possible. It has been done."

Sam tried hard to believe. Meantime he went and got the gold. It wasn't that hard to find, if you knew where to look. Suffice it to say that the drug lords of LA had kindova downturn that year. Then he picked up Ashman and they went to look for Bogart. They found him in Chicago running an illegal high-stakes poker game.

GAME

Turning up with a trolley case crammed with precious metal meant there was little objection to him joining Bogart's poker game. He proceeded to load the table with gold. Now if there's one thing no old-fashioned hobgoblin, leprechaun or imp can resist, it's bling. After loosing a few hands, Sam paid up and made to leave. Bogart felt deeply disappointed to see the back of such a juicy mark so soon.

"Why not stick around a while?", he suggested. "You could still win that back."

Sam shrugged. "Plenty more where that came from", he said, airily.

Bogart looked intrigued. "Maybe we could try another game? Baccarat? Snap?"

Sam sighed and sat back down at the table. "There is one little thing you could do for me", he said. "It would be worth tripling the pot."

Bogart grinned and leaned back in his chair. "So what do you want me to do for you?", he asked.

"Get a message to my brother."

"Your brother?"

Sam leaned closer. "Get a message to my brother, in Hell, on a certain date to be specified, and I mean your mouth to his ear, and I'll make it more than worth your time."

Bogart considered. "What kind of message?", he asked.

"Just this: 'Hang tight'", replied Sam.

The imp licked his lips. That gold was some temptation.

"My contacts are gonna need a little something to sweeten the pot", he said.

"Like what?", Sam asked.

"Something more in their line. A year or two off of your allotted lifespan, maybe?", Bogart suggested.

Sam hesitated briefly, very briefly. "Fine", he agreed. "What's a year or two of old age."

Bogart opened his mouth as if to contradict him, but changed his mind.

"Sure", he said. "Old age."

He spat on his palm and held his hand out to Sam, who grabbed it and gave it a very firm shake. When he let go, Sam felt the spittle on his palm sting like corrosive.

"Pleasure doing business with you", Bogart called to Sam's back as he walked out.

"Expect a call", Sam responded, closing the door behind him.

Next day Sam drove down to Bobby's and clued him in. The old hunter was only too ready to help, but he had his misgivings. It was great that Sam had his hopes back, but the chances of this working were slim to none. Bobby knew Sam couldn't rest until he'd done every damn thing in his power for his brother. This was the last resort, Bobby understood, and he would be there for Sam, when it failed.

DRAG

Sam had rented a cabin sequestered deep in the Wyoming woods, well away from human habitation. Bobby and he and the other two had furnished it, stocked it with provisions, and made sure there were no blades, no sharps, no weapons of any kind. They surrounded it with rings of spells, sigils, demon traps and alarms, both to keep Dean in, just in case he wasn't entirely Dean, and to keep the nasties out, in case they tried to grab him back.

Bobby, Sam and Ashman set things up for a seance. Bogart took leave of them outside. He couldn't go inside now, because he was an imp and the cabin was securely warded. He was off to Hell to locate Dean. He wished them luck.

At midnight Ashman began his ritual. He opened up a portal in the floor and called down to Bogart, who answered, and then Ashman reached down deep into the hole and grabbed something. He almost fell in. The cabin filled with sulphurous smoke, fire, steam and the harrowing sounds of horrendous screaming.

Sam and Bobby fought to hang onto Ashman, and Ashman fought to hang on to his catch. Then, with a pop, they dragged Ashman back into the room, and the portal snapped shut. The room was filled with fumes, and flames caught hold here and there.

Sam jumped up and stamped out the many small fires. Then, as the smoke cleared, he looked around the cabin. He helped Bobby onto his feet. Ashman was coughing violently and his arms were badly burnt. There were piles of ash and debris everywhere.

Sam yelled, "Ashman, we didn't get him. You couldn't pull him through", his voice almost breaking.

Ashman replied, wheezing, "I got him for sure. He's here", and he indicated a shapeless smoking pile that looked like something overdone on the barbecue.

"That's him", Ashman said, choking, "That's your brother. Or what's left of him."

TBC

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><p>AN: Dean is back but in what state? Updating soon.


	2. Back

Summary: Sam has rescued Dean from Hell. Now he and Bobby have to bring him home.

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>BACK<p>

When the hellhounds had finally come for Dean, they didn't leave much intact. Sam just couldn't bring himself to salt and burn his own brother, even in that state, even though he knew that was the right thing to do, and even though Bobby begged him to. He couldn't give up the impossible hope that Dean might not be lost forever. If he could find some way, any way, to get him back, Dean would need that body. Sam's hopes died as Dean's remains rotted in the dirt.

What they had pulled out of Hell wasn't the body Dean was born with. Ashman had explained that to Sam. It was a physical interpretation of the state of Dean's soul. And it wasn't pretty. It was burned, it was disfigured, it was sick and it was scared. But it was Dean.

At first they hadn't thought he was even alive. His entire body was charred black like a spit-roast suckling pig. After Ashman had been paid, and left to go get his burns looked at, Sam approached the body gingerly, knelt down and applied his ear to its crusty chest.

"Think I can hear him breathing, Bobby", he whispered, hopefully. "Yes, I can. He's breathing. Very shallow but yes, he's alive!"

"How do we even know that's Dean?", Bobby asked Sam, warily, "There's nothing left to recognise him by."

Sam looked down at the scorched lump lying on the floor. His eyes ran over the body. Bobby was right. There was nothing Dean about this burnt offering. He reached out his hand and turned its face toward him. The face was unrecognizable, but then he carefully pushed open one eyelid with his thumb. He gasped and almost laughed. His brother's green eye stared out at him, cold and glazed but undoubtedly Dean's.

"It's him, Bobby", he sobbed. "It's Dean. It's my brother."

"Well, I'm glad you think so", Bobby replied.

"Let's hope that's true", he thought. "Let's hope it really is Dean, and let's hope Dean's still Dean. For all our goddamn sakes."

So the two men picked up the body, lighter than Dean had been since a kid, and placed it on the bed. They had soldered chains and handcuffs to the frame, because they had been warned that it would take Dean some time to adjust to being back. And, in the meantime, they didn't want him hurting himself, or anybody else.

AWAKE

After five days, the charred carcass of what had been Dean lay almost motionless, chained to the iron bedstead. Sam was sitting, as he always did, on a chair at the end of the bed, dozing slightly from lack of sleep. Bobby would be arriving soon with supplies, and he would spell him while he got some real sleep. The old hunter had been staying in the nearest town, some distance away. Sam had insisted on being the only one that put himself in danger by being close to Dean 24/7.

Sam's eyelids were just threatening to close, when the faintest of sounds reached him from the bed. He jumped up and studied his patient. He heard the sound again. Dean uttered a barely audible groan, when he tried to shift ever so slightly.

"Easy, Dean", Sam warned. "You don't wanna move. You'll crack open your scabs. Just lay still. If you need to move, I'll turn you."

Every day, every couple hours, Sam had been slathering Dean's crispy skin with some disgusting voodoo gunk Bobby had sourced from a reliable contact in New Orleans. He was pretty sure it was made of freaky stuff like unborn puppy's fat and bat's spittle. Sure smelled that way. It was supposed to heal even hell-singed skin. And it was just starting to work a little, but it had a long ways to go.

Sam might as well have held his tongue. Dean erupted into a tempest of thrashing and strangled incoherent noise. He yanked at his chains, rocking the bed, even though it was bolted to the floor. Sam made to grab him by the shoulders trying to calm him down, make him still. Dean growled like a rabid beast and snapped at his face, baring his broken, jagged teeth.

Blood flowed from the scars around Dean's wrists and ankles, as the handcuffs bit into them. Sam stepped back shocked. He feared that Dean might actually pull the manacles from the bed frame, or even mangle his hands dragging them through his cuffs to get at him, but they held.

Even throughout this display, Dean's eyes remained fixed on him, green and glowering. This wasn't some demon, Sam realised, even though Bobby had feared it, this was a soul in torment, this was his brother in pain.

TRICK

Pain was all Dean could feel. He was beyond anything else. He was aware that he had been ripped out of wherever the Hell he was, into wherever the Hell he was now. But it was still Hell. How could it be anyplace else?

He had been sent down for eternity, no reprieve. So whatever this looked like, it was just some kind of new Hell, peopled by demons, demons who looked like the people he loved. Just one more kind of torture. Just one more source of pain.

They sure knew how to twist the knife in the wound, down in Hell. They wanted him to think he was home. They wanted him to start believing, trusting, and then they would pull the rug right from under him. It was their sick joke. That's all it was, and he wasn't going to let himself be fooled.

No, not even when that son of a bitch was wearing his own brother's face, smiling at him, shushing him, trying to convince him to be calm. He wasn't falling for that, no sir. He was angry. He was going to stay angry. That was the only way he was going to survive.

So he growled in its face and it backed down.

DART

Sam was shaken. His brother's eyes were mad with hate. He had never seen anything quite like that before. He had never heard anything like that strangled, ragged anger pouring from his mouth. It was animal and inarticulate, inarticulate because Dean didn't have a tongue.

Bobby and he had examined Dean's body on the first day. His mouth was like a bomb crater, broken teeth, shredded flesh. His tongue looked like it'd been ripped out by demon teeth, the stump torn and mangled. Dean couldn't speak if he'd wanted to, but he made his feelings known, and his feelings were not good.

Luckily the chains were holding. Sam drew his chair a little farther from the bed. Then he went to his bag and got the tranquilizer gun.

"It's OK, Dean", he said, trying to sound calm and reassuring. "We got you home, bro. The worst is over, I promise. We're gonna get you well, Bobby and me."

And then he darted him. Twice.

CARE

Bobby turned up an hour later laden with supplies for the cabin. For Sam there were high carb foods, caffeinated energy drinks and pills to keep him awake, and alert; baby food and formula for Dean. He was gonna need to start eating. So far all they'd managed to give him was a little water, and he'd reflex-spit most of that all over them.

Sam studied the information on the Strained Beef Stew label. It sounded OK.

"God knows how we're gonna get him to take this", he remarked to Bobby, indicating the jar.

"Problem is how we gonna get him to keep it down", Bobby answered, eyeing their patient.

He'd already had to burn his favourite shirt and jeans, after they got covered with some kinda hell-shit Dean had spewed up.

"Well, first we gotta get some more water into his body", Sam said. "Then we're gonna purge him", Bobby grimaced, "His system's gotta be full of hell-muck, ash and blood, and we're gonna get that outta him", Bobby nodded reluctantly.

"Then we can try getting some nutrition down his throat. I just hope we don't choke him, no tongue and all", Sam added.

"Oh yeah", Bobby suddenly remembered. "I spoke to that contact of mine in New Orleans again. She says that she's gonna do some research in grow-back potions. She claims she knows someone who grew back a thumb for a client. She sounded hopeful. But it's gonna cost."

Sam nodded, "It's all gonna cost, Bobby, but he's worth every penny. Even if I gotta go to Colombia and take down another drug nest!"

TBC

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><p>AN: So Sam and Bobby have their work cut out. Updating soon.


	3. Purge

Summary: Sam has rescued Dean from Hell. Now he and Bobby have to bring him home.

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>PURGE<p>

Purging Dean's body turned out to be some mammoth task. Sam had put rubber sheets on the bed Dean was laying on, and that was a mercy. Sam prepared the purgative carefully. It was hard to work out the correct dosage because it was based on bodyweight, and Dean's bodyweight was kinda arguable. They couldn't weigh him without enormous difficulty. And then who knew how much they would need to allow for charred flesh and unholy stomach contents? Sam decided to go slightly over the normal dose anyway. They wanted to do this fast and thorough.

Dean was still a little sluggish from the tranquilizer darts stuck in his thigh. Sam pulled out the two darts and Dean barely registered it.

"He's still kinda dopy. I don't wanna zonk him out all the way", Sam told Bobby. "It's not gonna work if he's totally unconscious. And also I don't wanna risk him coughing this all the Hell up."

"The faster we get that poop-shifter in him, the faster we'll get this done", Bobby growled, grabbing Dean's jaw and prising his mouth open. "Just pour it the Hell in!"

Sam poured the laxative down Dean's throat. Dean convulsed a little, unfocussed, and settled again. A couple of gurgling coughs caused a little of the potion to dribble down the side of his mouth. Sam wiped it off.

"I wouldn't bother", Bobby chuckled, grimly. "We're gonna be wiping up a Hell of a lot worse, soon as that mother starts in working."

He wasn't wrong.

OWE

An hour later, Bobby opened the cabin door, and threw the last of the defiled bedding on the heap ready for torching. He held the door open for a few minutes, taking big lungfuls of sweet country air. Outside nature was looking bright and fresh. Keeping the door open he turned in toward Sam.

"You wanna come out here and get some oxygen inside you, Boy", he said. "You been looking peaked enough, cooped up in this place, without giving yourself the lungs of a 50-a-day man."

Sam laughed and joined Bobby at the door. He looked back towards the crumpled figure on the bed, now re-doped, washed up and switched onto clean new sheets, rubber topped with a soft brushed cotton. Dean looked kinda small and scrawny. Sam shook his head sadly.

"I know it's like looking after some kinda evil baby, Bobby", he said, quietly. "But he's always looked after me. I owe him."

Bobby patted him on the shoulder. "I know, son. I know. But just remember, we owe Dean a chance. If we can get him back with us in mind not just in body, sure, it will be worth it. But if not, we agreed that he deserves to be put out of the hellish misery he's in. He deserves no less. And he would totally understand. No need for you to feel guilty. You done your best by him."

Sam nodded. "Yeah", he replied, but down inside Sam wasn't so sure he could let his big brother go again, not now, not ever.

FEED

Soon as Dean showed signs of coming round, Sam decided it was time to try feeding his charge. Bobby came in off of the stoop and found Sam mixing formula the wrong way.

"Give it here", Bobby said, pushing him out of the way. "Lemme do this. Jeez, pretty damn sure you're not the one ever looked after a baby", he grumbled.

"Like who?", asked Sam, huffily.

"Like you, doofus", Bobby retorted.

Sam drew his chair to the side of the bed, and looked at Dean. He seemed relatively calm, although his eyes followed Sam's every move suspiciously.

"I guess we made a little room in there for some food, huh Dean?", Sam suggested. "Bobby's making you up some formula, baby formula, nothing else in it, I swear, totally safe."

Sam leaned closer and tried to see some acknowledgement in Dean's face. All he got was a hostile glare. Bobby put some of the warm formula in a sippy cup and brought it over. Sam held the cup under Dean's nose so he could smell it, like he would to a dog. Dean wasn't impressed. He snorted and turned his face away from Sam and the cup.

"Sorry, bro", Sam said. He grabbed Dean's chin, yanking his mouth toward him, and jammed the top of the sippy cup between his lips. Bobby sat on him to keep him immobile. When Dean didn't drink right away, Sam pinched his nose.

After long enough for Dean to have turned blue, if he'd had any pink skin to see it on, he finally took a draw and promptly gagged. He spluttered and flailed a while, jangling his chains, but, when he'd calmed down again, he began to drink. Sam smiled happily.

"There, Dean", he chuckled. "Not so bad, huh? Just like momma's milk. Soon make you big and strong."

Bobby rolled his eyes.

SHAME

After a couple days on baby formula, secretly laced with painkillers, Sam needed to put Dean in a diaper. Well, he wasn't really capable of visiting the john in his state. Dean wasn't exactly cooperative.

"Yeah, I know, Dean", Sam grumbled as he struggled to wrap the adult diaper around his big brother's ass. "It's not exactly a good look, but the alternative is laying in a pool of your own crap."

Dean gave him a look that said right now he would probably prefer to be laying in a pool of his own crap, anyplace else.

Sam sat down on the chair by the bed and took a look at Dean's skin. A little pink was starting to show itself on his right arm and shoulder. The formula was doing him good. Big chunks of scab had started to loosen off each time Sam applied his ointment. He had finally been able to separate all of Dean's toes and fingers.

As for his junk, well, if Dean had known the struggle Sam had had dealing with that area, while he was out of it, he would certainly have had some complaints. Sam just didn't want to think about what his brother had been through to get in that condition. And as for his ass? Don't ask.

"You're doing pretty good there, Dean", Sam assured him. "I think we're winning."

PEACE

Dean stretched and woke himself up. He had been dreaming, dreaming about him and Sam, when Sam was a kid. It was one of his favourite dreams. And now he was awake and back in the cabin. There was something screwy about that, waking up from one dream straight into another. Crap, this was some elaborate illusion. He had to hand it to them. They were good.

It was an illusion of course, Dean thought. This room, so normal looking, four walls, one table, two chairs, two beds, a sink, a fridge, a microwave, not much else. It could have been anyplace on Earth. Yeah, it really could have been on Earth. He could even hear the sound of birdsong drifting in through the window. Too bad it was a lie. Too bad he was still in Hell.

Those two guys, the two demons. Sure they looked like Sam Winchester and Bobby Singer, but that was cos they'd gotten into his mind, and stolen his memories of the two people he loved most in the world. They were simulacrums, that's all, and he couldn't, mustn't, wouldn't trust them. Cos then they would have won, the trick would be revealed, this little haven of peace would evaporate, and he'd be right back where he started, down in the pit, suffering for eternity.

They liked their little tricks down here in Lucifer's kingdom. They liked to fuck with your mind. So maybe he would let them think they were fooling him, just for a while, let them go on playing their games. It wasn't so bad here. At least he could get some sleep.

SPRITE

Later that day, Bobby opened the cabin door, to be greeted by yet another farcical scene. Sam was charging around the room, jabbing at something with a long-handled mop.

"Rat?", Bobby asked.

"Not exactly", Sam replied. He finally cornered the thing and grabbed it up, with a look of triumph on his face.

"Now what would you say that was?", he asked the old hunter, holding the squirming thing out between thumb and forefinger.

At first glance it looked like a little black mouse with a long tail. But when Bobby's old eyes had focussed on it, he saw that it was a tiny manikin, with flailing arms and legs, and snapping teeth.

"Some kinda hell-sprite, I guess", he hazarded. "How the Hell did it get in? We got the place protected. Air-tight."

Sam dropped the sprite onto the floor, and stomped it with the mop head. Then he wiped up the mess and put the mop and its bucket outside.

"I decided to try holy water nasal irrigation and Q-tips, to clear out Dean's nasal and sinus cavities. They were still so full of infernal crap. I was amazed that he could hear, smell or swallow anything. I guess that was maybe a good thing, where he's been. I gave him a couple tranqs to keep him still. You wouldn't believe what came out.

Half way through I noticed his left eye move, and I thought funny wasn't he still out? I turned away, and outta the corner of my eye I saw it move again. I got down to study it and there was this thin black thread sticking out the duct. So I got tweezers and yanked on it. Something squealed and yanked back. Then I realised there was something in there, behind his eye. Something alive!

I tried flushing it out with holy water. Eventually it escaped through his ear, and shot away, fast as a gecko. When you came by, I was trying to gank the SOB, before it got away. I've checked Dean over. Seems it was the only one. Though I did find some ear-wax that looked kinda funky."

"Here", he said, thrusting a bunch of dropper bottles from the first-aid kit into Bobby's hand. "You can do his drops. Ear, eye, nose."

TBC

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><p>AN: Now that was nasty ;) Updating soon.


	4. Tired

Summary: Sam has rescued Dean from Hell. Now he and Bobby have to bring him home.

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>TIRED<p>

Bobby unlocked the door to his motel room with a sigh. Once inside, he flung his bag in a corner and collapsed on the bed. This was all way too much for a man of his age.

Dean Winchester had been like his own kid, and when he had first gotten the news of Dean's horrific death, his heart had truly broken. But this, this was twisting it all outta shape.

He had only given Sam that contact name because he knew the guy was an old stoic, and he firmly believed that what Sam needed was for some of that stoicism to rub off on him. He needed a wise old head to tell him it was time to stop, time to resign the game. The last thing he'd thought was that the old bastard would come up with a goddamn plan.

Of course he'd had to muck in and help the poor kid. He knew that, as much as it hurt the Hell outta him, it was hurting Dean's baby brother a thousand times worse. He didn't know where the boy found the strength to keep going, he was sure finding it damn hard.

Bobby lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. He needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow he would need all his strength. And the next day. And the next.

PEACHES

At Sam's behest Bobby had brought a little fresh fruit along with his last supply run. Sam wanted to get something good into his 'baby'. He had spend all morning trying to get Strained Beef Stew into Dean. Dean was not keen. Sam had tried it himself and he could see his argument.

"I know, Dean", he chuckled. "It's not exactly a cheeseburger with extra bacon, but you gotta start with baby steps."

He stuck the plastic spoon between Dean's lips and ignored the eye-hate. Dean blew the spoon's contents back out through the side of his mouth. Sam wiped him off.

"OK, I guess it's kinda hard to eat without a tongue, but you gotta try, Dean. It's not like it's gonna taste bad."

Dean grizzled, but allowed his brother to put the next spoonful nearer what was left of his tongue. It went down with only a little struggle. Sam fought the impulse to say "Good Boy" like he was feeding a dog. They managed to get through half a jar before he allowed Dean to give up.

"If you can keep that down, I'll get Bobby to bring us a blender, and maybe mush you up something a bit more appetizing. Meantime we got peaches. Yummy."

There was a paring knife in the box with the peaches, and Sam used it to peel one and cut it into tiny pieces. He absentmindedly stuck the knife in his shirt pocket, and went back to Dean's bedside.

Dean's relatively cooperative mood had caused Sam to drop his guard a little, so he was taken by surprise when Dean surged up from the bed, snatched the knife and made a lunge at him. Diced peach went everywhere. The blade cut a slash across Sam's torso before he had the time to react, and retreat beyond his brother's reach. Blood poured from the long, thin gash, and soaked the front of his torn shirt. Dean snarled triumphantly.

"Sunova bitch!", Sam yelped. "God, Dean, reflexes still fast as shit!"

He peeled off his wrecked shirt, and grabbed a length of clean bandage from their medical supplies, wrapping it around his body. Then he got a clean shirt from his bag, balling up the mutilated one and stuffing it in the bottom.

"Better cover this up before Bobby gets back", he said, slipping the shirt on. "I know just what he would have to say about something like this. He made me swear that if you tried anything dangerous, well... This kinda thing's a deal breaker, Dude."

When Bobby turned up a few hours later Sam was sitting reading yesterday's paper, like nothing had happened. Dean had long since given up gloating, and laid down. He was now apparently fast asleep, with his back to the room.

"Any problems?", Bobby asked.

"No, no", Sam insisted. "We had a little baby food. But somehow I don't think he liked the peaches so much."

SHOWER

Bobby had come back to the cabin to watch Dean while Sam had himself a nap. Sam made sure Bobby was looking at Dean when he got up out of the chair, holding his stomach to stop himself from wincing, as his skin stretched around his wound.

"Gonna take a shower first, Bobby", he said, grabbing a clean bandage and a pot of Dean's skin gunk, wrapping it in his towel, before slouching into the bathroom.

Bobby nodded without turning round. Dean looked pretty innocent when he was sleeping. When he WAS sleeping. In fact Dean was still wide awake, listening intently to the two men's conversation. It had surprised him that Sam had kept the knife incident from Bobby. Why would he do that? Despite himself he was starting to like that Sam demon guy. He wondered if this gig was paying him enough for all the crap Dean was putting him through.

Sam let the hot water of the shower flow over his face and body, stinging and cleansing his wound. A jet of clean water, so simple yet so purifying. How must it have been for his brother, mired in the filth of Hell, butchered and hurting, bleeding out into that sewer? He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. It was no use his trying to imagine Hell. How could he know how it was? How could anyone who hadn't been there?

Sam reminded himself that it didn't help to dwell on where his brother had been. He had to think about bringing him home, putting distance between him and those memories. He switched off the shower faucet, cleaned and dressed the wound Dean had given him and, wrapping his towel over it, stepped out of the shower and walked back into the main room.

When Sam re-emerged from the bathroom in a towel, Bobby noticed that the towel seemed to be wrapped a little high on him, but he didn't say anything. Sam slipped a T-shirt over his head and pulled on some boxers under the towel, before throwing it down. Bobby chuckled at how shy the big guy was, when his brother was laying there in just a diaper.

"Wake me in a couple hours", Sam yawned, getting comfortable on the bed in the corner.

"Sure", Bobby replied, making a mental note to double that.

PIE

Over the next month or so Dean's skin got steadily more and more healthy looking. Sam got expert at picking scabs off of skin without tearing. Not a skill you can brag about. Dean grumbled and twitched irritably at the sting to his skin, interrupting Sam's painstaking work.

"I'm not gonna let you alone, Dean", Sam muttered. "I know it smarts, but this is for your own good. Humour me."

Bobby collected a parcel from the local FedEx Office containing the stuff they would need to put together the tongue re-growth treatment. It was a foul-tasting gargle, and at first Dean wouldn't have anything to do with it.

Sam had a try at blending a cheeseburger. Gross. He had more success with a regular patty and ketchup on a high setting. Bacon or sausage also whizzed pretty good with eggs. Dean's appetite began to improve and he put on a little weight.

Soon Sam was able to use liquidized cherry pie to bribe Dean to try the tongue gargle again. Within a week things were starting to move back there. Never underestimate the power of pie.

"Soon have you on solids, Boy", Bobby joked, as he shovelled ground beef down Dean's throat. Dean laughed. Bobby was taken aback. It was the first time he'd heard that since they'd gotten Dean topside.

"Hell, Dean", he exclaimed. "Didn't know you still had laughing muscles."

"Oh yeah, he's smiling now", Sam observed, wearily, as he re-entered the cabin. "Cos he's all clean and dry. Wasn't so cheerful fifteen minutes ago, when I had to change him."

Bobby winced. "Just glad I don't get a turn at that chore", he remarked.

Dean gave him a warning look. It wasn't a subject he cared for.

"Sometimes being related has its disadvantages", Sam observed, dryly. "I'm gonna add a bed-pan to this week's supply order, Bobby. Time my brother was outta diapers and into training pants."

"And", he continued in an undertone. "He's stopped passing blood. I really think he's over the worst, Bobby."

"Goddamn hope so", Bobby agreed. But inside Bobby wondered whether a 'sound body' necessarily meant a 'sound mind'. Dean's moody mental state still had a ways to go before he could put Hell behind him.

And the paring knife was still missing.

TBC

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><p>AN: Never underestimate the power of pie. Updating soon.


	5. First

Summary: Sam has rescued Dean from Hell. Now he and Bobby have to bring him home.

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>FIRST<p>

Sam was shaving himself with his electric razor. He wandered over to Dean and examined his hair. Dean tugged his head away from his brother's hand. Sam ran his fingers over Dean's stubbly chin. That got the same reaction.

"Just thinking you could use a shave", Sam explained, a little put out.

He sighed. They were neither of them touchy-feely guys, but sometimes he just wished he could make some affectionate gesture to his brother that wasn't rejected so definitely. It was hard to give your all to someone who'd pretty apparently prefer you weren't around. The faintest trace of a smile would have made all the difference.

It was raining heavily outside, when Bobby let himself in the cabin, to find Dean lounging on his bed in a white T-shirt and pajama bottoms. His only restraint now being the one manacle attaching his ankle to the foot of the bed.

As Bobby removed his waterproofs, he had to remind himself again of how far Dean had come in the last few months. There was now very little damage to the visible skin of his arms and face. He could almost pass for normal, if it wasn't for the moth-eaten look of his hair. He was sitting back reading the local paper like he'd been doing it for years.

"Anything interesting?", Bobby asked, jokily.

"Fuck all", Dean replied, in a voice that sounded like he had a mouth full of wool.

"He's been doing that all morning", Sam remarked, from his seat at the table. "Ever since he discovered he could pronounce 'fuck', it's all he says. Not exactly baby's first word."

"It's nice to hear the guy speak at all", Bobby chuckled, taking a chair beside Sam.

Dean eyed them over his newspaper. He was biding his time, waiting on their next move.

ICE

Dean had been grizzling softly to himself all night. When Sam tried to feed him his oatmeal in the morning, he cursed incomprehensibly, and snatched the spoon from his hand. Sam flinched back in surprise, but Dean gestured toward his mouth.

"Ho'h", he explained.

Sam grabbed his jaw and looked into his mouth, his tongue was coming along nicely.

"Thaw", Dean complained.

"That's a good sign. Shows it's healing", Sam remarked.

"Here", he said, and opening the fridge, fished out a tray of ice-cubes.

"Suck on this", he offered one to Dean. "It'll help with the soreness."

Dean took it and stuck it in his mouth. From the look on his face, it helped.

Bobby came in right then.

"Dunno what you're feeding him, but he seems to like it", he commented.

"Ice", Sam explained. "His tongue was bugging him."

GYM

Dean's body had gotten so thin that he looked like he had a pot belly.

"Getting yourself a figure like mine, Boy", quipped Bobby.

Dean lifted his T-shirt and looked at his belly sadly, "Dyum", he muttered.

"Jim?", Bobby repeated quizzically, looking to Sam for translation.

"Yeah, the Gym, Dean", Sam replied. "We gonna need to get down to the Gym, soon as you get well. We both wanna get into the '300' workout to get back into shape. Picking up after you all day is so not the best exercise regimen."

"Oh sure", Bobby said. "You'll be back to your old self in no time. Getting in shape. Hitting on the chicks and..." Suddenly the old hunter choked, feeling his eyes fill up. He had to turn away to disguise this totally unexpected loss of control.

"Time for your treatment", Sam interrupted, handing Dean a jar of voodoo glop.

Bobby looked askance.

"He insists on doing it himself now", Sam answered him, with a grin. "After letting me put my hands all over his body for months, he's suddenly started to get bashful."

Dean made a face. Bobby chuckled and shook his head.

"C'mon", Sam said, opening the cabin door. "Let's go outside get some fresh air. Wanna talk to you 'bout something. Let His Majesty here have his privacy."

SOCK

Outside, Bobby stood for a minute staring into the trees.

"Sometimes it just gets to me, Sam", he explained, sadly. "I think about how he was, and it just yanks at my heart strings. Must think I'm an old fool."

Sam patted him on the shoulder. "I know, Bobby", he said. "I feel the same. He's my brother, and I let him down big time. I did, Bobby, can't deny it. But I'm gonna do my best to make it up to him, as much as I can. He's the reason I'm alive today. I owe it to him. And I couldn't live with myself, if I didn't try."

Sam paused. "There's something I gotta tell you. He's got a knife."

Bobby's eyebrows lifted.

"He got it off of me the other day", Sam continued. "I've searched high and low, but I can't find it. He's got it squirreled away somewheres. God knows what he means to use it for. Just so you know."

"Sam", Bobby growled angrily. "We talked about this. We agreed you wouldn't put yourself at risk. It's not worth it. I don't wanna lose both of you."

"Bobby", Sam replied. "Sure it's worth it."

Sam opened the door and went back inside. Dean was laying on the bed, arms folded across his chest, looking totally innocent, the goop jar now half empty.

Sam picked up the jar off of the nightstand, and put it back with the rest. While doing so, he noticed that his bag wasn't in exactly the same place he left it. He kicked it out of sight before Bobby saw it. Later he discovered that a sock was missing.

A sock?

HOARD

Sam lay in his bed worrying about the missing knife and that sock, of all things. He had been afraid that Dean was planning something devious. Dean had kept that little knife, a weapon. He probably had some kinda plan, but what could it be?

Sam knew it was way too soon to expect his brother to trust them, probably even too soon for him to accept that he was really safe. So maybe that knife was just to protect himself. Dean wasn't used to going unarmed. That must have killed him in Hell, being so defenceless.

Dean probably felt safer with a weapon, but surely he knew he would be no match for the two of them, even with a knife. Surely he couldn't be thinking of trying to escape. Where would he go? If he didn't feel safe here, there was nowhere else he would feel any safer.

Surely he wasn't thinking about taking his own life, that would just get him back to Hell the super-fast way, and anyplace was better than that, right? It made no sense. That was when Sam remembered that Dean had stolen a sock. A sock? And he realised that that made no sense, not to a sane mind.

Sam slipped a couple sedatives into Dean's morning oatmeal, and shook down everything within reach of his brother's bed. He found what he was looking for pushed through a rip underneath the mattress. There were several items. He pulled them out, put them in an old oatmeal carton and set them aside.

When Bobby arrived, he thrust the carton under the old man's nose, as he stood on the stoop.

"What do you make of these?", he challenged.

Bobby stared into the box, perplexed. Then his eyes lit up.

"Oh, great!", he declared. "You found that missing knife."

"Yeah", Sam replied. "It was inside that jerk's mattress. And so was the other junk."

Bobby put his hand into the carton and moved the contents around, assessing them.

"Looks like stuff you might find in a raccoon's nest", he joked, dismissively.

"Exactly", Sam retorted, exasperated. "Hell, Bobby, I thought he was pretty together. Well, a damn sight more together than I expected, anyways. Then he pulls something like this, and I gotta wonder where his mind's really at."

Bobby sighed. "We knew there were gonna be mountains to climb, right from the get go, Sam. You don't visit Hell, even for a few months, and come back normal. We've been concentrating on his body, cos that's the easy part. Getting inside his head is gonna be the goddamn hardest part."

"Sure", Sam said, flopping his backside down on the stoop. "I know. And I guess I've been trying to put off thinking about that. I wanna believe that's still my brother in there. It's real hard to face the possibility that I might never see the old Dean again."

Bobby sat down beside Sam, and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, as Sam spread Dean's hoard on the dirt: the paring knife, an old door key, a battered dime, a rubber band, a crumpled photo, a piece of string, a blunt pencil, a shirt button, and one of Sam's socks.

"It's prison mentality", Bobby explained. "Keepsakes. They keep it real."

TBC

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><p>AN: Poor old Dean. Has his mind gone? Thanks everyone who's been following my little story. Updating soon.


	6. Living

Summary: Sam has rescued Dean from Hell. Now he and Bobby have to bring him home.

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>LIVING<p>

Bobby decided to let Sam get out of the cabin for a few hours. The boy was starting to get cabin fever. Sam took Bobby's wagon and drove into town. He stopped at a nice homely little diner, went in and ordered coffee and a donut. He sat nursing the coffee for a long time, just watching the patrons go in and out, enjoying their perfectly normal day. The pretty waitress came over and offered to top up his cup.

"Hunting?", she asked.

Sam jumped, but then noticed her smile and smiled back up at her. She meant hunting as in deer. "Oh no", he said. "Just here for the peace and quiet."

"Honey, you'll find a lot of that round here", she grinned, moving on to leave him with his peace and quiet.

Sam threw a few coins on the table and went outside. He drew in a lungful of fresh morning air. It was a beautiful day. Life was good. And Sam was gonna make damn sure that Dean knew that feeling again.

CHAT

Meanwhile Bobby was alone with Dean. Bobby decided to do a little stock take, to see what they needed from town. After a few minutes banging cabinet and cupboard doors, he turned around to see Dean sitting on the side of his bed.

"Dyong", he said, by way of explanation.

Bobby looked blank for a moment, then he twigged.

"John? Oh sure. If you think you can make it, be my guest."

Dean jangled the chain on his ankle pointedly.

Bobby considered. "OK", he said, and unmanacled Dean's ankle. "Go for it."

Dean walked unsteadily to the bathroom, and made to close the door behind him.

"Nuh-uh!", Bobby snapped. "Door stays open."

Dean looked at him, then shrugged and went inside to get on with it. Minutes later Bobby heard the flush and the faucet and looked up. Dean sauntered back into the room.

"Another first", Bobby quipped. "Your brother will be pleased."

Dean lay down on his bed and made a dismissive noise like "Oh sure."

Bobby felt his pique rise.

"Ya know, Boy, your brother's been through something this past year. Maybe not Hell but damn near. When you passed it broke his heart in two, and he almost killed himself, trying to find some goddamn way to get your sorry-ass back here. You made that deal, Dean, and your brother had to live with it. None of this was his fault. You don't realise what this is doing to Sam. He's doing everything he can to help you readjust, but somehow I don't think it's getting through. He loves ya, Boy, and you're treating him like some goddamn prison guard."

Dean stared up at him blankly, unmoved by that tirade.

"Bwavo", he muttered. "Gwate speesh", then turned over, settling with his back to Bobby and the room.

Sam came back a little later definitely in better spirits.

"He been OK?", he asked, nodding toward his brother.

"Oh sure", Bobby replied. "We been having ourselves a nice little chat."

DREAM

Dean was restless. He had been pacing back and forth the length of his restraining chain all day. Although it was annoying the Hell out of him, Sam didn't like to stop him. He needed the exercise. Also, unfortunately, his voice had returned. Not enough for him to be generally intelligible, but quite enough to allow him to sound off as much and as often as he was moved to.

"And", he declared. "If you think you're gonna keep me walled up in this goddamn box, you're gonna find you're very much mistaken."

Sam had gotten pretty adept at translating Dean's mumbles and grunts over the past few weeks.

"No one's keeping you walled up, Dean", he retorted. "Soon as you're fit to travel we're gonna be getting outta here. Trust me, I'm gonna be just as happy as you to see the back of this place."

"Trust you?", Dean responded. "Uh, really? Buddy, I am not that stupid."

Sam rounded on him, "Dude, since when can't you trust your own brother? No, scratch that. Since when can't you trust Bobby? Why can't you believe that everything's gonna be OK? What do we have to do to make you happy, Dean?"

Dean stopped pacing and glared at his brother.

"You really think I've fallen for this, don't you? You really think you've tricked me. Hell, you've got to get up early to fool a Winchester."

"I AM a Winchester, Dean", Sam replied, calmly. "And I'm not trying to fool you. Why would I even do that?"

Dean scowled, parking himself on his bed. "Because you're a demon. That's why. And this whole set-up", he waved a hand around the room, "is a delusion designed to fuck with my mind."

Sam was taken aback. "You really believe that, do you?", he asked, incredulous. "After everything? You really think you're still in Hell?"

"Sure I'm in Hell", Dean replied angrily, and like he was trying to convince himself. "I gotta be. You go to Hell, it's a one-way ticket. You don't get to come back. No reprieves, no pardons, no way out. This whole thing has gotta be some kinda sick joke. The minute I start believing it's real, that's when I wake up back in the freakin' toaster oven."

Suddenly he lunged at Sam, grabbing the back of his neck, furiously attacking his mouth. He hoped, pleaded for this Sam to push him away violently, like a real brother would.

He didn't.

After a bitter moment, Dean let go of him and took a step back, anger surging up into his eyes.

"My Sammy would have knocked my teeth out if I'd tried something like that", he spat.

Sam drew in a deep shaky breath and choked, "Dean, I am NEVER gonna push you away again."

His big brother was totally dumbstruck.

At that point, Bobby came back out of the bathroom. He glanced at both the brothers and shook his head.

"What in blazes are the two of you idjits yelling about? I could hardly hear myself crap in there", he complained, colourfully.

"Bobby", Sam hissed, pulling the old hunter to one side. "He's trying to tell me he thinks he's still in Hell. For Christ's sake, I thought we'd gotten beyond that. What am I supposed to say?"

"Nuthin'", Bobby replied. "There's no way characters in a goddamn dream are gonna convince the dreamer he's awake. That's gonna need specialist help."

Bobby took out his cell and called Fenton.

VISIT

It was almost noon. Sam was sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee and idly filling in the crossword in his newspaper. He was sure missing his laptop but, as Bobby had pointed out, they needed the cabin to be 'off the radar'.

Suddenly he felt a strange urge to open the cabin door. He glanced at Dean, who appeared to be asleep. Which was just as well, seeing as he'd been in a biting mood again earlier.

Sam hesitated for a moment, rubbing his bitten wrist. Dean had a nip like a spiteful chihuahua. He was gonna have to get those teeth looked at. When Sam opened the door he found the imp Bogart standing in front of him, just beyond the ward line, wearing a big grin.

"Just thought I'd pop on over and see how things are going", Bogart said breezily.

Sam frowned, "Like I'm gonna talk over my business with you", he retorted, tetchily. "There's nothing here for you, Bogart. Our deal is signed and sealed already. You have your gold."

Bogart looked down at his feet. "Can't a guy take a friendly interest?", he asked.

"No!", Sam responded, curtly. But then his curiosity got the better of him. Leaving the door slightly ajar to aid a hasty retreat, he walked over toward Bogart, staying within the protected area.

"Why are you here, really?", he asked. "You got news?"

Bogart grinned sunnily. "I have zero news", he pronounced archly.

"Zero news?", Sam repeated, his implication dawning. "Like no news? Nothing?"

"Been a slow news day in Hell."

"You can't tell me no one noticed."

"Apparently no one wants to own it. So I guess you've bought yourself a little time."

Sam almost smiled. "Thanks", he said, automatically.

Bogart grinned. "Just thought you'd like to know", and he wandered off whistling.

TBC

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><p>AN: Poor Dean's head is still teetering on the edge of Hell. One last chapter. Updating soon.


	7. Message

Summary: Sam has rescued Dean from Hell. Now he and Bobby have to bring him home.

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><p>AN: At last, the final chapter.

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><p>Burnt Like Barbecue by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>MESSAGE<p>

Sam watched Bogart go until he was safely out of sight, before returning to the cabin. Dean was sitting bolt upright on his bed with a pained didn't-I-know-it look on his face. Sam realised he must have been awake the whole time. He had seen Bogart.

"New orders?", Dean asked, coldly. "Or are you gonna try and tell me I didn't just see you in a huddle with some freakin' Limb of Satan?"

Sam sighed, sat back down at the table and recommenced his crossword without a word.

"Guess the tune-up's almost done, huh? Could almost pass for human now, yeah?", Dean observed, bitterly. "So that it? They wanted me healed so they can put me through the crusher one more time? Let me see myself like I was, so they can take it away again, piece by piece? Well, just tell them, if they're looking for a pretty face to stomp on, it's too damn late. This one'll never be pretty again. My soul is cinder trash."

Sam opened his mouth to protest.

"I saw you talking to that guy", Dean declared, accusingly. "He WAS in Hell. I KNOW he's a freakin' demon!"

"His name is Bogart", Sam replied, calmly. "He's an imp, Dean, not a demon. And he was working for me."

Dean stared, confused. "So how you gonna explain that?"

"He was helping me get you out, asshat!", Sam retorted, angrily.

"He was in HELL", Dean continued, not listening. "He was there. I saw him. Jeez, he SPOKE to me!"

"I sent him down to you with a message", Sam explained. "That was me."

"What? You told him to tell me 'Grab your ankles'?"

"I told him to tell you 'Hang tight', Dean. Guess something got lost in translation."

JOURNEY

Bobby had gotten a call-back from Guru Fenton, and arranged a meet. It was two hours ride away, at the home of a mutual friend. So they got up early, and prepared for a difficult drive, with an only semi-cooperative Dean in tow. Bobby drove the pickup, with Dean handcuffed to his brother in the back.

Dean sat with his eyes shut the whole first hour. Sam felt like that wasn't helping the situation.

"Beautiful day", he told him. "Least you got to get outta the cabin. Get some fresh air. OK?"

Dean opened one eye and peered at him. "Where you taking me anyways?", he asked.

"We're going to see a friend of Bobby and me", Sam explained. "A guy named Fenton. Calls himself Guru Fenton. He has a little new-age cult thing going on. And, before you say anything, he's a good guy. He helped me when I was close to calling it quits."

"And I need to meet him why?", Dean asked.

"He wants to talk to you", Sam replied.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, but Sam noticed Dean was looking at the scenery.

INTERVENTION

As they pulled into the drive of the unassuming suburban house, they were met by a group of smiling people. They were dressed in simple white robes and sported strings of beads, the guru's adherents presumably.

Sam unlocked Dean's cuffs and they were half led, half manhandled into the building. They found themselves in a comfortable living room, where Fenton was ensconced with a few of his followers.

"Welcome", he said, motioning to chairs for his guests. Bobby, Sam and Dean took their seats. Bobby tried to get comfortable, he suspected this was going to take a while. And it did.

Fenton smiled at Dean benevolently. Dean returned a suspicious look.

"First of all, my friend", Fenton began. "Why do you think we're here today?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, I'd say it looks like some kinda half-assed intervention", he said.

"You could call it that", Fenton replied. "But an intervention is for someone who has a problem. Do you have a problem, my friend?"

"I'm not your friend, smartass", Dean retorted. "And, yes, I have a problem. I have a big freakin' problem with all this new-age crap."

Fenton chuckled. "We're not here to discuss my religion, Dean. We're here to help you. I've come to answer your questions."

"Got no questions", Dean snapped.

"Sure you have", Fenton responded. "We all have. We all have questions about the meaning of life, the purpose of our existence, the nature of reality and our place in it."

Dean hesitated for a moment. "Who the Hell are you?", he demanded. "What are you? What do you want from me?"

"Dean", Fenton replied, calmly. "It doesn't matter who I am. Or what I am. Think of me as a voice in your head. Just tell me, tell yourself, what you're afraid of."

Dean sighed and his shoulders drooped a little. "I'm afraid that this is all a dream", he whispered. "I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up and all this, Sam, Bobby, everything I care about, is gonna be just one big lie. Just some hell-fiend's idea of a big-ass freakin' joke."

"Do you want to believe, Dean?"

"Yeah, sure I wanna believe. Who wouldn't? Who the Hell wouldn't want their life, their family back? I loved those guys, dammit. But I can't. I can't let myself believe."

Fenton chuckled again. "So you tell yourself that everything you see here, everything you touch, everything you hear, smell, taste, feel is an illusion? Well, you're right. It IS an illusion."

Here he paused dramatically, watching Dean's expression harden.

Then he continued. "ALL life is an illusion. The Universe is a dream. This is what the eastern mystics teach us. It is the ultimate truth. I cannot prove to you that this world you see around you is real, Dean Winchester, because it is not, nothing is. But it is as real as anything else you will ever know. It can be real enough. Accept that thought and you are free."

Dean stared the old priest straight in the eye for the longest time, and finally replied...

"...Maybe."

At that moment the guru's attendants got up and shooed Sam and Bobby into the kitchen.

COOKIES

Bobby wanted to know what the heck had just happened. Fenton's chief assistant smiled benignly.

"We just had what they call an 'epiphany'", he whispered.

Bobby and Sam shared a look of amazement.

Dean and the guru continued talking in private, for quite some time. Meanwhile someone in the kitchen made coffee and passed round a plate of cookies.

Suddenly Fenton appeared in the kitchen, grabbing a cookie as the plate passed his nose.

Sam was confused. "Where's Dean?", he asked.

"He's out front", Fenton spluttered, mouth full of crumbs, gesturing toward the front yard.

Sam and Bobby spilled out of the front door, to find Dean leaning nonchalantly on their vehicle.

"You ready to go?", Bobby asked, a little surprised.

Out in the daylight, he wondered vaguely if Dean hadn't overdosed a little on the skin-healer. Did he used to be that handsome? Seriously?

"Sure", Dean replied, climbing back into the truck. Sam got in beside him.

As Bobby pulled away, Dean turned to him and asked, "Can we stop someplace and eat? I kinda missed out on the cookies."

An hour later Dean was staring down a huge slice of apple pie.

"Sure smells like pie", he said with a smirk, "I guess that's near enough."

STOOP

Sam and Dean were sitting on the stoop of the cabin, enjoying the last couple cold beers.

Dean sighed. "I'm not gonna ask", he remarked.

"Not gonna ask what?", Sam asked, innocently.

"This sorta thing has a price, Sammy. I should know."

Sam stared at his beer bottle for a moment. "It was worth it", he said.

Dean finished his beer and tossed the bottle in the garbage can, where most of the stuff they'd used in the cabin had now been junked. He hefted his duffel bag, and wandered over to the truck. Bobby was already belted in the driver's seat, ready to take off.

"Don't let him do anything like this ever again", Dean warned the old hunter.

"Sure, Dean", Bobby responded. "Like I could stop him."

Sam joined them, and they got in the truck and pulled away. Tomorrow they would go pick up the Impala. Then Sam was gonna have to drag Dean kicking and screaming to the dentist's office.

The End

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.

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AFTER-CREDIT SCENE

A week later, as the Winchesters sped along the highway in Dean's favourite Chevy, Sam napping on his brother's right, Dean broke the companionable silence.

"Hiding out in a cabin in the woods that way reminds me of when we were kids", he observed with a smile.

Sam broke out a dozy grin. "Everything reminds you of when we were kids, Dean", he replied fondly.

Dean chuckled. "Remember that time Dad drove us up into Alberta, to hide out from the Feds, after that mess of a hunt in Idaho?"

"Dude, we've never been to Alberta", Sam retorted without thinking.

"Sam, we had to be there like almost three months. Had one whale of a time, all three of us together. You don't remember?"

"We got around, Dean. I guess Alberta wasn't that memorable", Sam recovered quickly.

When Dean looked skeptical, Sam cut off the conversation by feigning sleep. Memory hole? Damn that Bogart and his little deal sweetener. One or two years? Jeez, what other random stuff was gonna turn up missing? Shit!

The End

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><p>AN: Hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Thanks everyone for your reviews, faves and alerts.


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